First Day As An O'Connor
1044 Words
Katherine's POV
The sunlight pried my eyes open long before my body was ready to face the day. For a disorienting moment, I forgot where I was—the too-soft pillows, the silence where my apartment's usual creaks and groans should be, the scent of something clean and expensive in the air.
Then it all came crashing back.
Mikel. The contract. The baby. Breakfast with the O’ Connors.
I bolted upright, my heart hammering. Eight a.m. Mikel had said eight a.m., and the clock on the nightstand read 6:47. I'd barely slept as my mind kept replaying every moment of yesterday on an endless loop, from the weight of the pen in my hand to the finality of Mikel's zipper closing over my signed future.
I swung my legs out of bed, intending to find coffee, caffeine, anything to jump-start my brain into functioning. But when I opened the bedroom door, I nearly tripped over a mountain of shopping bags.
Not just shopping bags. Designer shopping bags. The kind with logos that cost more than my monthly rent.
I blinked, certain I was still dreaming. There were at least twenty of them, arranged neatly in the hallway like soldiers awaiting inspection. Black, white, cream, all tied with silk ribbons, all bearing the names of boutiques I'd only ever glimpsed in the backgrounds of movies.
"What in the world..."
A note was taped to the largest bag, written in sharp, precise handwriting that I already recognized as Mikel's.
Breakfast at 8. Can't have my wife showing up in my hoodie, —M.
I pulled the note free, my fingers trembling. My wife. The words still felt foreign, like a dress two sizes too big.
I carried the bags into my room and emptied them onto the bed, my breath catching with each reveal. A cream silk blouse that felt like water running through my fingers. A tailored navy blazer that probably cost more than my grandmother's last surgery. Dark trousers that would fit like they'd been made for me, judging by the custom label.
Shoes. Three pairs, each more beautiful than the last. A handbag in soft leather that I was almost afraid to touch. Underthings of silk and lace, delicate and obviously expensive, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks at the thought of Mikel selecting these.
There was even a jewel box containing simple gold studs, elegant, understated, and perfect.
I stood in the middle of my temporary room, surrounded by more wealth than I'd seen in my entire life, and I wanted to cry. Not from gratitude, exactly, but from the overwhelming realization that Mikel had paid attention.
Every piece was in my size. Every color suited my skin tone. Every item felt like me, if I were someone who belonged in worlds like the one I was about to enter.
The thought was terrifying and comforting in equal measure.
By 7:45, I was dressed in a cream blouse, a navy blazer, perfect trousers, gold studs. I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror and barely recognized myself.
I looked like someone who had never worried about hospital bills in her life. I looked like someone who belonged in a O’ Connor mansion.
I looked like a wife.
A soft knock on my door made me jump. "Katherine?" Mikel's voice, muffled through the wood. "The car's here. You ready?"
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.
He was standing there in a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been painted on, his dark hair swept back, his golden eyes warm despite the early hour.
When he saw me, something flickered in his gaze—surprise, appreciation, something deeper that made my stomach flip.
"You found everything," he said. It wasn't a question.
"You bought everything," I countered. "Mikel, this is too much. I can't accept…"
"You have already signed a contract agreeing to be my wife. Accepting clothes is literally the smallest part of that agreement."
He stepped closer, and I caught his scent. It was sandalwood, that same sandalwood from the VIP room, and my traitorous body remembered things my mind had tried to bury.
"You look beautiful, Katherine. My mother won't know what hit her."
"Your mother." I swallowed hard. "What's the protocol here? Do I curtsy? Call her 'your grace'? Flee screaming?"
Mikel's lips twitched. "Tempting, but no. Just be yourself. She'll try to intimidate you. Don't let her."
"And your father?"
Something dark crossed his features. "My father will assess you like you're a business acquisition. Don't take it personally. He does it to everyone. Even me."
"Great. So, I just have to survive a breakfast with an ice queen and a corporate shark. No pressure."
Mikel reached out, his fingers brushing my chin and tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The touch was electric, and I forgot to breathe.
"Fine. But if I c***k and start speaking in tongues, you're handling damage control."
"Deal."
The car was waiting downstairs. It was a sleek black town car with tinted windows and a driver who opened the door for me like I was actual royalty.
Mikel slid in beside me, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine, and I spent the drive trying to memorize the family dynamics he outlined.
"They're going to ask questions," Mikel finished as the car turned onto a private road lined with ancient oaks. "Some will be invasive. Some will be insulting. Answer honestly where you can, deflect where you can't. I'll step in if it gets bad."
"And if it gets worse?"
He looked at me, and for a moment, the cold, authoritative billionaire was gone.
"We just hope it doesn't."
The words settled somewhere deep in my chest, warming places I'd kept frozen for years.
Then the car crested a hill, and the O’ Connor mansion came into view.
It wasn't a house. It was a sprawling estate flanked by perfectly manicured gardens and fountains that probably cost more to maintain than I'd earned in my lifetime.
The driveway alone could have parked fifty cars. The front doors were easily twenty feet tall.
"You grew up here?" I whispered.
"Unfortunately." His voice was flat. "Ready?"
“Yes."
"Good. Let's go."
- Writer
